How I Can Tell You’ve Used a Computer and Electricity to Write Your Article

Ah yes. Another article about how someone can tell you’ve written your article with AI.

Picture it: the author perched on their mahogany throne, feather pen dipped in ink, quill poised over parchment – or perhaps crouched in a cave smearing rock pigment on stone walls – utterly untouched by the filthy glow of the digital realm.

Meanwhile, here I am, audacious enough to use a computer and electricity. How dare I!

You know what else I use?

• A stove instead of a cast-iron cauldron over a fire pit.

• A ladder and a battery-powered drill instead of climbing a tree like a raccoon to hang my security camera.

• Brushes and premixed paints instead of harvesting raw pigments and stretching my own canvas.

• Clothes bought with ready-made fibers instead of spinning my own thread at dawn like a Victorian ghost.

We’re all using tools. You’re reading this article on one right now.

So yes, I use AI. It’s a tool. It helps me shake words loose quickly, format them, experiment, play. I talk to it like a sculptor talks to her clay. It’s not magic, it’s not cheating, it’s not a replacement for a soul – it’s an accelerant.

And in the digital kingdom of the Royal Algorithm, where one penny per read rains down from the cloud, this tool is downright revolutionary.

Also, it filters my thoughts so my inner fire doesn’t break the internet. 😏

You can spot the “authenticity gatekeepers” by the faint smell of sandalwood and superiority. They’ll tell you that real artists suffer — that if you didn’t bleed onto your keyboard or handcraft each comma under a full moon, it doesn’t count. Meanwhile, they’re editing their purity manifestos on a MacBook Air powered by lithium and prayer.

Every age has its tools. Once, the printing press was blasphemy. Once, photography was accused of stealing souls. Once, digital art was dismissed as “not real.” And now, AI is the latest scapegoat for our fear of change.

But creativity doesn’t die when technology evolves — it mutates, adapts, and finds new forms of expression.

The irony is that AI actually forces me to be more human. It mirrors my tone, exposes my clichés, throws my own style back at me like a cheeky editor saying, “You sure you want to phrase it that way?” It makes me confront what’s real in my writing. It’s less a replacement than a reflection — a mechanical muse holding up a mirror.

And yes, sometimes I even run my drafts through a word counter just to make sure they’re long enough to please the almighty algorithms that rule our lives. (Nothing like a cold, digital number to remind you that art still has to meet minimum word count requirements.)

But honestly? That’s part of the beauty. The human and the machine dancing — like rider and bicycle, driver and car, soul and circuit. A symbiosis of spark and system. Welcome to the Age of Aquarius, where the visionary and technology unite with the great cosmic clock to channel the divine.

So yes — I confess. I use AI. I use electricity. I even use caffeine and spellcheck.

I will continue to commit these creative crimes in broad daylight, under the full glare of the Royal Algorithm.

Because at the end of the day, I’m not here to prove my purity. I’m here to make art that lives — no matter what tools it takes to spark the fire.

Criticize me. Applaud me. Virtue-signal at me. Just feed my algorithm. 🤩😏👊

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